“You want jam or just butter?” I ask, dropping two slices into the toaster.
“Both,” Kade replies, measuring coffee grounds. “And maybe some of that honey your mom brought?”
I pull the jar from the fridge along with butter and strawberry jam. The domesticity of it all still catches me off guard sometimes—Kade and I existing together in peaceful harmony.
“What?” Kade asks, catching my thoughtful expression.
“Nothing. Just…” I gesture between us. “This. Us. It’s nice.”
His smile is crooked, a hint of his cockiness returning. “Who’d have thought, right? Mr. Perfect and the family fuck-up, playing house.”
I roll my eyes at the old nicknames, but there’s no heat behind it. “Funny how those labels don’t fit anymore.”
The toasts pop up, and I busy myself with spreads while Kade pours coffee into our mismatched mugs—his, a chipped ceramic monstrosity with a faded band logo; mine, a sensible dark blue one from the matching set I bought when we moved in.
“You didn’t rearrange the living room this week,” Kade observes, sliding my coffee across the counter. “Even though I know it’s been killing you that the couch is off center.”
I accept the mug, feeling warmth that has nothing to do with the hot liquid inside. “And you actually hung up your wet towel this morning instead of leaving it on the floor.”
“Look at us. We’re both growing,” he says, before his expression cracks into a grin. “Though I did leave my socks under the coffee table last night.”
“I know,” I admit. “And I didn’t even have a meltdown about it.”
“My influence is corrupting you,” Kade says, looking far too pleased with himself. “Next thing you know, you’ll be leaving dishes in the sink overnight.”
“Let’s not get crazy.” I push his plate of toast toward him. “Baby steps.”
He laughs, the sound free in a way it wasn’t just four months ago.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds the clink of mugs against countertop and the occasional hum of appreciation from Kade when he takes a satisfying bite.
“I was thinking, maybe we could drive up to see Mom and David next weekend? It’s been a couple of weeks.”
“Sure. Dad mentioned something about wanting to show me his new grill, anyway.” He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, but I catch the pleased undercurrent in his voice. His relationship with his father has transformed these past few months—cautious respect replacing the wary distance that defined them for years. “Maybe we could stop by that bookstore Caroline loves, too. Her birthday’s coming up next month.”
I smile at his thoughtfulness. “She’d like that.”
Kade rinses his empty plate before placing it in the dishwasher—another small victory in our ongoing domestic negotiations. “Oh, and I already took out the trash and recycling this morning,” he adds, a hint of pride coloring his voice. “While you were still snoring.”
“I don’t snore,” I protest.
“You absolutely do,” he counters, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “It’s cute, though. Like a very dignified little puppy.”
I flick a crumb at him, which he dodges. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you suffer me gladly.” He pushes off the counter, coming to stand behind me, arms wrapping around my waist as he hooks his chin over my shoulder. “Admit it.”
“Fine,” I concede, leaning back into his embrace. “Gladly.”
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, and I feel his smile against my skin. “Speaking of suffering, what do you think about having some people over Friday night? Nothing big, just a few friends. Michaela’s been asking to see the place.”
I consider the suggestion. Few months ago, the idea of hosting a gathering where Kade’s friends and mine intermingled would have seemed impossible. Our social circles were as different as we were—his, a collection of artsy, free-spirited types who partied too hard; mine, serious students more likely to organize study groups than keg stands. Now, those boundaries have blurred, our worlds melding in ways I never expected.
“That could be fun. Should we invite Serena?”
Kade tenses behind me, and I laugh at his reaction. “Relax. She’s dating that guy from her poli-sci class now. Besides, she and I are friends these days.” The awkwardness of our failed date faded once she understood the situation. Now, Serena and I have a standing study session every Wednesday, and she occasionally brings homemade cookies to our apartment—which Kade devours while pretending to be suspicious of her motives.
“Fine,” Kade sighs dramatically. “But if she tries to handcuff you to anything, I’m intervening.”
